I am an F. B. I. AGENT.

Music – Weezer – Surf Wax America


“What? I’m on the phone.”


“It’s nice.  A little small.”


“Ok, ok…”



“Thank you.” I said. “His name is Yog-Sothoth the All-Devourer.  He is the blackest hunger become flesh.  He knows not mercy nor pity nor satiation.  Look into his endless mouths, and despair.”

“Ok. Yes.  It’s a great Venus fly trap.  Why don’t you go find it some flies.”

“Our fruitfly woes are over.  Yog-Sothoth the All-Devourer is the scourge of…”

“That’s great Trevor.  ON THE PHONE. GO AWAY.”

Yog-Sothoth the All-Devourer and I left to go find him some bugs to eat.


“Will it get enough sun up there?”

“I think so.  It says on the label here that it needs to be kept moist and at a temperature between 65 and 80 degrees.”

“HAH. In this apartment? Better keep it in the oven.”

“Yeah… I think Yog-Sothoth the All-Devourer is tougher than the plant seller realizes, though.  The blood of his vanquished foes will keep him warm through the chilly nights.”

“I’m sure it will.  Has it caught anything yet?”  I got up to check again, in case a fly had snuck in since I last checked six minutes before.  As I had checked ten minutes before that, and ten minutes before that.

“Not yet… Yog-Sothoth the All-Devourer is a subtle and patient killer, though.  I’m sure he’s just lulling the flies into a false sense of security so that his wrath will be that much more cruel when it is finally unleashed.”

Ellie left and I sat there watching Yog-Sothoth the All-Devourer for a few more minutes, hoping for some carnage.  A few flies buzzed around, but steered well clear of his terrifying maws even when I tried to shoo the little fuckers over to his shelf.

I’m not worried, though.  Your time will come, bugs.  And you will rue the fucking day you hatched when you die slowly, locked in the unholy embrace of Yog-Sothoth the All-Devourer.


Friday we went to see Point Break Live, which was unbelievably awesome.  Pure, unadulterated genius.  Our generation’s Hamlet.  Without question.

Go see this play, regardless of cost or inconvenience.  Drink heavily beforehand.  Wear a poncho.

The honest to god director of Point Break the movie, Kathryn Bigelow, stars in the stage version as well, which really helps in preserving the subtle nuances and artistic integrity of the original work in its new medium.

There is this one scene… Johnny Utah / Keanu Reeves, driven to the edge of madness by the capture of his true love and the death of his partner Gary Busey, leaps from a plane without a parachute and latches on to Bodhi / Patrick Swayze in midair.  Utah / Keanu must drop his gun to pull the ripcord on Bodhi’s chute, but if he does that, his quarry will escape.  They scream towards the Earth, locked in a deadly game of chicken.  They shout things at each other over the howling wind, something like

“NO, YOU!”

I was sprawled out on the floor below the stage, my face smeared with fake blood, my poncho tattered and tangled around me… I had two empty Tecate cans jammed in the pockets of my jeans, and was working on a third… I remember looking up at the actors, suspended from the warehouse roof by cheap rope in place of parachutes, waving popguns and flailing in their boardshorts, and being overcome with the most profound feeling of peace and contentment I’ve ever known.

It was such a sublime transcendence.  It was a brief glimpse of nirvana.

Fuck, what a play.

I swear to god it’s a thing of perfect beauty.


I can not recommend the shit enough.  It’s fucking great.  If you really want to see it the way we saw it on Friday, here’s what we did. Seeing the play in the proper context is important, so follow these simple steps to replicate our entire evening verbatim.

5:30 – Drink four beers at home.  Run around your house having pretend gunfights with your friends.  Tell your friends about how awesome your new Venus flytrap is.

6:00 – Get in a cab.  Make sure the cab driver curses at Kim, refuses to drive you to Hunter’s Point because he’s “afraid of the (inappropriate word for black people)”, and blasts French rap so loud it makes your fillings fall out.

6:05 – Badger the cab driver into taking you to HP despite his fears.  Call him a eurotrash pussbag, and mock his Versace sunglasses.  Tell him soccer is stupid.

6:15 – Get stuck behind motherfuckinghatemylife Critical Mass.  Curse the fuckers vehemently out your window.  Threaten to kill them all and to shit on their shallow mass grave.  Embarrass your girlfriend thoroughly in doing so.

6:20 – Pray to all the deities you know when your cabdriver goes the wrong way down a one-way street at 95 miles an hour to get around the Critical Mass jam.  Laugh uncontrollably when Kim tells the cabdriver to “eat some asshole” for driving so crazy, then mimes it out when he is unable to hear her over the French rap.

6:45 – Arrive at secret warehouse location in Hunter’s Point where they sell 12% ABV beer for 2.50 a pint.  Tell bouncer the password, and gain admittance.

6:45 – 7:30 – Drink heavily and speedily, as the supersecret warehouse closes at 7:30.  Eat a three dollar burrito that tastes like baseball mitt.

7:30 – 8:15 – Wait in vain for the cabs you called to show up.  Assume they were hijacked, stripped, and torched driving through Bayview.

8:15 – Hitch a ride with random roadtripping people from Oregon in a Vanagon who happen to drive by.  Pack 17 people into the van.  Ask for a ride “over near the Ballpark. Or anywhere we can catch a cab.”

8:25 – Get dropped off nowhere fucking near the ballpark, in an empty lot, because Castanos keeps groping the driver and asking her if she “wants some sugaaaaaaaaar”.  Curse the people in the van for being selfish hippy scum.

8:45 – Miraculously catch a cab to the Portrero warehouse where the play is.  Buy many cans of Tecate from the octogenarian working the door and scare the hipsters out of the front row so you get the best seats.

9:00 – Bask in the fucking life-changing glory.  Rethink your life decisions.  Get covered in fake blood despite your poncho.  Know true joy.


Point Break Live: http://www.myspace.com/pointbreaklive



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